


Hospital

by asparagusmama



Series: Seasons AU - extras! [1]
Category: Lewis - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-23
Updated: 2011-05-23
Packaged: 2017-10-19 17:29:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/203347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asparagusmama/pseuds/asparagusmama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A deleted chapter from Cold Summer, call it chapter two and a half. For all those who asked for more dialogue between Lewis and Hathaway. Tagged rape/non con for physical injuries following the crime, no descriptions of crime. With the Rohypnol still in his system and pumped full of morphine and valium Hathaway has the capacity to startle and alarm Lewis in equal measure. Hathaway won't remember a word of what he said, Lewis remembers everything. A bit dark with moments of humour and fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hospital

**Author's Note:**

> Lewis and Hathaway belong to ITV
> 
> Oxford is owned by the University Colleges, The Crown, The Church of England, Oxford City Council and Oxfordshire County Council, the later who should be lined up against a wall, or even better, all magically transported into a pain ridden disabled body left caring for an autistic child and see how they cope with their savage cuts to care, support, school and charity funding....
> 
> The John Radcliffe is owned by the NHS and is brilliant. Dedicated to all staff at A and E
> 
> Wrote this while I had flu last week. How you get flu in the spring when you've had a flu jab I don't know... Babyklingon is away and didn't check if the boys stray out of character, and the grammar nazi's not read this. I apologize for any mistakes.
> 
> Oh, and I 'borrowed' one of the nurses from the BBC ;)

HOSPITAL

Lewis parked right outside the public entrance to A and E. James seemed to be struggling with getting up so he went round to help him. As he did so a security guard came out.

“You can’t park there sir,” he said, glaring at Lewis, still in his tux, top button and bow tie undone, James’ blood on the front of his shirt, before moving on to look at James’ bruised face and the fact he was shaking. “Alright mate, for five minutes, just to drop him.”

“I think you find I can park anywhere I like,” Lewis snapped, pulling out his badge.

“Well, Inspector Lewis, I think you will still find you can’t,” the security guard came back in a definite jobworth attitude. He stared pointedly at Lewis’ tux.

“Five minutes then,” Lewis said in a placating tone, hauling James to his feet. James winced and cried out. “Sorry James.”

“It’s alright sir. Sorry. Can’t seem to...” James legs buckled and he almost fell. Lewis caught hold of his arm and suddenly the security guard was there, supporting James the other side, changing his opinion in the nano-second it took for him to realise the bruised young man was also a police officer and not an arrestee, as he had supposed.

The waiting room was half full, mostly with young people with drugs and drink related injury, accident or fight, all of whom had been waiting for hours. Several listless babies and toddlers were there too, in the arms of worried looking parents. Lewis and the guard helped James into a seat near the door and then the guard looked pointedly at Lewis before walking back to his little office.

“You alright here a minute while I go and park?” Lewis asked, squatting down in front of James and tipping his head by his chin to look at him. The unfocused gaze was back, coupled with a look of someone struggling with intense pain.

James nodded. “Jumped up little shit of a jobworth,” James mumbled, nodding over towards the security guard’s office.

Robbie gave a little half snort of an almost laugh. “Bloody little Hitler.”

Lewis was gone for almost fifteen minutes to park the car, thirteen minutes and 51 seconds to be precise. James counted them all. A boy off his face on crack had babbled incomprehensively at him and a drunken old man, possibly a tramp by the smell of him, had demanded what had happened while opposite, a boy of six or seven stared unblinkingly at him, all the while picking green snot from his nose and eating it. The boy’s baby brother or sister let out a continued, high-pitched scream as the boy’s mother paced backwards and forwards in front of him. James closed his eyes to shut out the boy afraid he might be sick. In fact, he’d begun to feel sick in the car.

“Okay?”

“Fifty one,” James muttered before looking up. “No. Not particularly. I feel like total shit.”

“I’ll go check you in.”

There was a queue of five people at the reception. Lewis just walked past all of them, badge in hand and slammed it on to the window, interrupting the stilted conversation between a Polish woman, her non-English speaking husband – bloodied hand held in the air – and the receptionist.

“DI Lewis. DI Laxton’s team at rape suite sent me over with a victim.”

“Oh? Hold on.” She leaned over and grabbed a pile of papers and rummaged through them.

“Can we hurry it up?”

“Sorry, Friday night, Saturday mornings are busy, you know. Here. Male victim. Drug assisted. GBH. Anal bleeding. Take a seat, Inspector, someone will be with you both as soon as we can. Is he in a fit state to fill in this?” She passed over a yellow form, clipboard and pen.

“I’ll do it.” He took it and went back to James, watched by every English speaker in the queue.

James was now clutching his abdomen, doubled over and rocking backwards and forwards slightly. Robbie touched his back, gently.

“Okay?”

“No.”

“Someone will see you soon. Get you some pain killers, maybe.”

“Great. Because a couple of paracetamol is really going to help.”

“Sit up James, you’re probably not helping yourself.” Robbie pulled James up and into him, letting him rest his head on Robbie’s shoulder. James shifted, so he was leaning heavily on his thigh rather than sitting properly. He breathed out a sigh. Robbie steadied the lad and put his left arm around him and then struggled with the clipboard, balancing it on his right leg and started to fill in the details he knew. “Who’s your next of kin, James? Last time you were in here we had to leave it blank?”

Last time. It hung in the air. Last time was removing a bullet, a bullet taken in the line of duty, and the NHS fast tracked waiting and waved paperwork.

“And the time before,” continued Robbie.

The time before. Drugs, again. Spiked drink. Again. And smoke inhalation. “Don’t remember a thing sir.” Woke up next to you, sir.

“Who do I put then?”

Mum? NO. Dad? Definitely not. My cousin? Maybe. Don’t want her involved if this bleeding gets worst, if it’s... not thinking about that! “Can you put you sir?”

“What?”

“Please. If they need a name. I don’t want my family involved, they would...” only blame me and hate me more.

Worry? Robbie thought, wondering how he’d cope if this were Mark or Lyn. “S’pose,” he agreed reluctantly. “Although, you know what it will imply.”

“If I’m going to die I can’t think of anyone better to be thought of as my partner,” James mumbled, then blushed. “No, forget I said that sir. I feel spacey. Not quite myself at the...”

A female nurse, white skinned and dark hair, in a scruffily tied bun, and dark eyes, interrupted them. “Inspector Lewis? This is the...?”

“Yes.” Lewis disentangled himself from James and stood.

She took the clipboard. “James? Do you want to come with me? I’m taking you over to major trauma, where you can lie down. I’m sorry to have kept you, but the minor injuries doctor was reading the e-mail from the police surgeon only minutes ago and decided to transfer you. There’s no need for you to stay, Inspector. Any extra information we will, of course, send over. I should think the poor boy’s had enough of the police...”

James Hathaway grabbed at Lewis’ hand. “Stay. Sir. Please.”

The nurse looked curiously.

“He’s my DS. I’m not leaving him.”

“Inspector, are you sure...?”

“James, I think...”

“Don’t go!” James wailed, sounding much younger than he was. He pulled at Robbie’s heart.

“I’ll stay, if that’s okay, he’s a lot more to me than just my sergeant. Would you leave a friend alone after...?” Robbie left the word hanging in the air between them.

“No. Come on. This way.”

James stumbled again. The pale grey sweat pants he’d been given at the rape suite were clearly stained with blood on the seat. So was the chair. Robbie put an arm around his waist to support him but James cried out in pain.

“I’ll get a wheelchair and a porter,” the nurse said.

*

After they’d got James on a bed the nurse, Louise, rushed out to get a doctor. She returned with an older dark skinned man, apologizing for the fact that the doctor who had read the police surgeon’s notes was busy down in minor injuries.

“Hello, Mr. Hathaway. Or would you prefer James? My name is Dr. Shakashi. Can you turn over on your side for me, please.”

“No!”

“James!” Robbie was surprised at his sergeant’s flat refusal.

“Please. The nurse says you’re bleeding. She thinks the referral says the artery was undamaged, but please, in the absence of your notes, I need to check.” He had a gentle, calming, reassuring tone, with a lilting South Indian accent.

Robbie, who had been standing as far back as he could in the small treatment room, far in the corner away from the bed, doctor and nurse, sighed and came up to James, to the top of the bed. He stared directly into James’ eyes, still slightly unfocused and all terrified.

“Let the doctor look sergeant, that is an order.”

James stared back with eyes brimming with unshed tears; tears of pain, tears of fear, tears of shame. Robbie felt his own eyes prickle. Wordlessly, James turned over onto his side, curling up, bending his knees. Robbie couldn’t stop himself thinking how James’ height was all legs, at wanting those long legs wrapped around him, an entirely inappropriate thought. He hated himself for it. He turned his gaze back to James’ face, holding his eyes with his own, studiously ignoring the other end, ignoring the blood.

“The other doctor, I’ve already...” James began before breaking off to gasp as the sweat pants were pulled away, as they had stuck with dried blood.

Robbie grabbed James’ hands as James yelled out aggressively, “No! Get off me! Fuck off!”

“Don’t swear at the...” Robbie began.

“It’s fine,” the doctor said gently. “And it is fine. You are a very lucky young man. I don’t think you will need surgery.” He turned to Louise, “But we’ll get an endoscope up there, just to make certain the blood is coming from minor skin tears.” He disposed of his gloves in the yellow bin while the nurse, who had already disposed of hers along with the manky grey sweats from rape suite, covered James’ bare legs with a blanket. She put a padded disposable sheet under him while he glared at the doctor with naked hatred.

“Is he going to be alright?” Robbie asked while James was digging his fingers in his palms so deep it hurt.

“Probably. He’s certainly not bleeding to death! It looks far worse than it is. The ’scope’s a precaution, that is all. And you are?”

“This is Inspector Lewis, doctor. He brought him in from the ’suite. His boss, apparently.”

“And friend,” Robbie added. “I’m here as a friend.”

“Boss?” queried the doctor.

“He’s my DS. Obviously I’m not at work.” He glanced down at his rumbled DJ, bloodied shirt and undone bow tie.

“Thank you for being here,” Dr. Shakashi said before turning to look at James Hathaway once more. He seemed to have completely zoned out, staring at the wall, blank eyed and silent, with tears, unchecked and unheeded, sliding down his cheeks. He’d let go of his boss’ hands.

“James,” began Shakashi gently, “can you lie on your back now.”

Mutely James complied.

As the doctor pulled down the blanket a little and pulled up the tee shirt, Robbie Lewis turned away, sickened by the bruising. No wonder James had cried out when he’d held his waist. Of course Robbie had seen bruising as bad or worse, on the murdered, on living victims. But only once before had he seen bruising that bad on someone he cared for, someone he loved. And she had been dead. He swallowed back his own tears; he needed to be the strong one, this wasn’t the time or the place to cry for James. Or Val.

“X-ray and ultrasound too, I think,” the doctor said to the nurse. He continued his examination. “Ribs all fine, can’t feel a break, but we’ll double check. X-ray here too nurse. You could do with a bit of meat on these ribs,” he joked. “It’s far too easy to find them.”

James glared.

Is James too thin? Robbie wondered. He’d noticed how thin he was, noticed the lad was skinny. But underweight? He tried to remember all the occasions he’d seen his sergeant out of a suit. Always causal clothes were loose and baggy. Hiding his body?

“Can you sit up for me James?” the doctor asked.

James struggled. He was obviously tired, tired of all the attention, desperate to sleep but in too much pain. Far too tired to bother hiding how uncomfortable he was. He gasped as he sat up and continued to let out pathetic little moans.

“Where is the pain?” demanded Shakashi.

“Every bloody where!”

“Can you be more specific? Where are you hurting the most? Here?” The doctor touched the bruised abdomen. “It’s very tender and bruised, but I could feel nothing to worry about. I have ordered a scan...”

“Inside!” James hissed. “And my back. And my legs. And here!” he held up his wrists, still covered with the dressings from the rape suite. The doctor slowly undid them. Ugly, red inflamed burnt skin around both wrists. Robbie looked away again. Rope burns, most likely. Shakashi nodded to Louise who disappeared, returning a few moments later with cream and fresh dressings.

“Find the bloody notes from the police in minor, will you?” Shakashi snapped at Louise. “I don’t want anymore surprises!”

“Yes doctor,” she hurried out.

“James. I’m going to order some bloods as soon as I’m done here. As soon as I get the bloodworks back and know what you’ve been given I’ll know what I can give to help with the pain. In the meantime, I’ll get the nurse to bring you a couple of paracetamol, it’s safe and it’ll take the edge off. You need to let me examine your head now.”

“Why?”

“You may be concussed as well as drugged, James. If your face is anything to go by, they could have beaten you around the head.”

James whimpered. Robbie couldn’t stand it any longer. He leapt up onto the top of the bed behind James and put his arms around him while the doctor felt James’ skull for bruising and cuts, looked into his eyes, got him following his finger, asked him routine questions to check for short and long term memory dysfunction.

“Thank God for small mercies. They’ve left your brain intact,” the doctor joked lamely. James glared. “No damage to the skull or neck, just bruising on your face, and that will heal.”

“Thank you doctor,” Robbie said, because someone had to and it didn’t look like it was going to be James.

“I’ll be back later, once we’ve got all the tests done. In the meantime, the call button is here, should you need something or the bleeding starts up again. The nurse will be back with the paracetamol and a jug of water. Please try to drink all the water, we need a full bladder for the scan to work.” And he left.

“Bastard!” said James, once he’d gone.

“He’s trying to help!” Robbie snapped, exasperated.

“I know,” James sighed and lay down again, on his side, back to Robbie, facing the wall.

“James...?”

“You must think I’m so stupid.”

“No, of course not, I...”

“Stupid!”

“You weren’t to know...”

James turned around and glared at Lewis, interrupting him, spitting out with venom, “Stupid! Gay! Slut!” He stared hatefully at his boss, although Robbie didn’t think the hate was directed at him. No, it was more self-directed. “That’s what you’re thinking, init? That’s what everybody at work will think!”

“James,” Robbie began carefully, “it’s not my business, or anyone else’s, what you do on a Friday night. But in point of fact I don’t think you’re stupid.”

“But I...”

“Or a slut, if it comes to it. Far from it. What I do think, if you want to know, is that going to a club is so out of character for you that you may have been naive, an easy target. But that is far from being stupid.”

“You’re right sir, I don’t go to... I don’t! Please don’t think of me like that, because I’m not. I don’t. I never...”

Another nurse, an older West Indian woman, bringing water and paracetamol interrupted them. She reiterated the doctor’s points about the call button and drinking plenty of water and left.

“The thing is,” James began speaking quickly before Robbie could speak, “I don’t care about the gossip. There’s always been gossip about me. The fact I left the seminary. Zoe. Crevecoeur. I ignore it. This will be just one more thing, won’t it? But I care what you think sir. You must believe me. Please!”

“About what James? If you’re about to tell me you’re not gay, then no, I won’t believe you. Unless you’re going to tell me you’re bisexual. But I’ve told you, it doesn’t matter. And it’s none of my business.”

James stared at him as if he were speaking a foreign language. “Bisexual? If only life were so simple. It would be easy, wouldn’t it, to find a nice Catholic girl, get married and have lots of babies. Might not get to be a priest, but I could still be a good Catholic.”

Now it was Robbie Lewis’ turn to stare as if James were speaking a foreign language. He simply couldn’t comprehend the big religious hang up. He rubbed his eye, and before he could stop himself, yawned heavily.

“Sorry if I’m boring you.”

“I’m tired James. Is it such a sin? Your friend Will said it – ‘Love is never wrong’.”

“You want to know if I’m gay. Well, I always thought someone was gay was someone who had come out to themselves, accepted themselves. It’s not that simple! I thought I – Look! I hate myself! I’ve always believed I had to be celibate because otherwise everything would be a sin. So, sir, you must believe me when I say I wasn’t in that club looking for...”

“A shag,” offered Robbie. “I know that. You’re celibate, you’ve told me, several times, same as you’ve so carefully avoided admitting you’re gay. Homosexual. Whatever word you want. Why is it so important to you what I think?”

James looked away again, turning to face the wall, hiding more tears.

“I don’t think that it’s your fault, that you asked for it. Is that what you’re worried about? You must know me better than that; I’d not think that about any victim. And I never have, however an old fashioned cop you think I am.”

“But it must be my fault. I trusted him. He said he wanted to practice his English – just conversation. I made it clear he would get nothing else from me.”

“It was his job to procure victims. He would have made himself whatever the guy wanted.”

James turned and stared, curious and confused.

“Five years, four countries. This man, James, he didn’t rape you. You’re the last in a long line of victims. The last,” Lewis emphasised. “Tech will pick up a police phone like that.” He snapped his fingers.

“So I don’t even know what my attacker looked like?” James clarified, appalled.

“No.”

“Oh.”

Suddenly the curtain was yanked back and a cheerful Scots man came in, pushing a trolley and burbling about blood tests. In no time at all he’d pulled the tape and cotton wool from the crook of James’ arm, used the same hole as rape suite to take blood and applied fresh cotton wool and tape and was gone again.

“I hate needles,” James said, after he’d left.

“Who doesn’t,” Robbie replied dryly.

“I don’t go clubbing,” James began again. “I don’t go looking for men to pick me up. Please. Please sir! Believe me.”

“I do.”

“But you think I’m stupid.”

“Naive, I said.”

“Naive?”

“Like someone half your age.”

“Oh. I’m not sure I entirely appreciate...”

“I know you think you’re a clever sod, and you are James, too clever by half. But there are some things you can’t learn from a book. It takes instinct, and experience. And you don’t have any real experience, do you James?”

“No.”

“Just the wrong sort of experience, too early, that probably twisted your instincts.”

James glared hostilely. “That’s a hateful thing to say.”

“Sorry James. All I’m doing is asking a question.”

“What?”

“Are you sure you’re not using your faith as an excuse?”

“What?” James was genuinely confused. Lewis seemed to be suggesting a complete antithetical argument to the Catholic counsellor and chaplain at Cambridge, as well as his confessor at the seminary. To them, his sexuality and childhood abuse had been a blessing, an indication of his call to the celibate life, to the priesthood.

“Forget it, pet,” Robbie said gently, guilty at the distress in James’ eyes. He remembered his promise not to take advantage of James in his vulnerable state.

Louise returned with a porter, to take James to X-ray.

“Want me to come with you?”

James shook his head, not trusting himself to speak, still hurt and confused.

“Shall I go home?”

“No! Please sir! Stay!”

Louise scowled at Robbie before speaking, “X-ray, then ultrasound, then endoscopy. About an hour. The refectory on Level 3 is open. Why don’t you get yourself something to eat?”

At the list of scary sounding tests James’ courage fled him. “Stay with me sir! Please!” He held out a hand. “Robbie!”

Robbie took his hand and held it, entwining fingers, pressing palms. “Okay, pet.”

If it was an odd form of hand holding for a DI and his DS, even for friends, and if the tender ‘pet’ were equally as odd, Louise and the porter showed no signs of curiosity.

*

Lewis had to wait outside X-ray, was allowed in Ultrasound and was sent away from endoscopy. He met up with James back in the small room in major trauma. He had coffee and chocolate, for both of them. James was already back, alone, curled up on his side, crying soundlessly. Robbie wanted to just take him in his arms and hold him tightly. That was so wrong on so many counts, starting with what James had said about himself and ending with all the bruising. Instead he held up his hands.

“Coffee?”

“Can’t sir.”

“Why not?”

“Got to wait for the doctor to look at the results, in case I need...” he broke off, fading out before he said the word surgery. Robbie heard it anyway. He went to the curtain and looked out on the central area. He could see Dr. Shakashi examining a VDU, hopefully James’ tests results and not another patient’s. Shakashi stood up. Robbie went back to James.

“Doctor’s coming.” He retreated to the back of the room and sipped his coffee.

The curtains swished open. “Good news, James, good news. All fine, nothing broken, no internal injuries or bleeding. You have damaged skin inside the rectum – naturally – and the anal bleeding may take time to stop entirely, but it will. Time is a great healer, for the mind as well as the body. The bleeding will clear up soon enough, especially,” he glanced at Lewis, including him in the conversation, “if you give intercourse a miss for a month or so,” he said bluntly.

“I don’t...” began James.

“We’re not...” Lewis started at the same time.

“Forgive me,” said Dr. Shakashi, “I must have misinterpreted your body language.” He paused, but he really didn’t have time to be embarrassed. “Your bloodworks are back, too. I can give you a shot of morphine now, which will make you much more comfortable. I’ll be back in a minute. In the meantime, we’re trying to get you a bed on one of the wards for a few hours; we need obs done. I’ll get them to give you a minor sedative once we’ve located a bed. We’re pushed, I’m afraid. I’ll write you a ’script for two weeks of Ibrufopen 500 and codeine and paracetamol – not together, but you can alternate, every three hours.”

“What about work?”

“Up to you. Physically, it’ll be tough, but if you’ve no family or friends to stay with, I won’t recommend being alone. DI Laxton’s team have referred you for counselling, I presume?”

James shook his head. “Don’t want it.”

“Your choice, but if you change your mind you’re in the same building, aren’t you? I’ll get them to send you home with three more sedatives. No more, we don’t want you dependant. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Thank you doctor,” James called to his retreating back, very politely.

“Okay now?”

“No. That last test was one of the worse things of my life, possibly the worse. And I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Fine. Do you want your coffee now?”

James nodded and propped himself up by his elbow. Lewis handed him lukewarm machine coffee and fished out a Kit Kat from his pocket. He shared it between the two of them. James had just finished when Dr. Shakashi returned.

“Good. Something inside you. Let’s have your arm, the opposite one to the blood test, I think.”

“What is it?”

“Morphine. Very powerful. But I think you’ve been suffering enough, don’t you? You must be in a lot of pain.”

James nodded and his eyes grew almost instantly unfocused as Shakashi withdrew the needle.

“Thank you,” he said, words a little slurred, feeling floaty as all the pain seemed to dissipate, as if his mind and soul had left his body, detaching itself from the battered and abused body, floating a little above it. He lay back again with a little sigh.

“Yes, thank you doctor,” agreed Lewis.

“No problem. As soon as we have a bed a porter and nurse will come and escort you both.” He left.

Lewis yawned and grabbed the chair, pulling it next to James’ bed. James rolled onto his side, a dopey smile on his face. He stretched out a hand and traced his fingers clumsily down Lewis’ cheek and chin.

Robbie hardly dared breathe.

James traced his fingers down his boss’ neck and touched the undone bow tie and bloodied shirtfront.

“You look like James Bond,” he said huskily.

“You must be stoned. A very elderly Bond.”

“Not particularly, Sean Connery was older than you. An old and Geordie James Bond. And very, very sexy,” James continued in the same sultry voice.

Lewis snorted. “Very stoned, James.”

“You could put me in the way to stop a bullet for you, any day,” James rambled, growing less sexy and more stoned in his speech as he went.

Robbie decided to just listen.

“But I’m more Miss Moneypenny to you, aren’t I? Taken for granted and ignored.”

“Not if...” Robbie began.

“Definitely feel more like your PA than your DS half the time the way you treat me.”

“I don’t...”

“But then again,” James voice was very slurred by this time, “I’ve always thought of you as my Lancelot. My knight on a white charger. Or a fairy tale prince. You rescued me.”

“No this time,” Robbie got out bitterly.

“You rescued me from a burning tower, from the dragon. The monster.”

“Zoe Kenneth was hardly...”

“A monster. Feardorcha was a monster. He always was, changing sex didn’t alter that fact, just made him – her - more monstrous. You rescued me.”

Robbie just gave up and just listened to James’ morphine induced stream of consciousness. He really, really hoped James would remember saying none of this.

“You know, sometime after you rescued me, and I can’t exactly remember when, I stopped being celibate for God and started staying chaste for you.”

“Me?” Robbie interjected, forgetting his resolve to stay silent, just to listen.

“You sir, my hero, my Lancelot, my prince. I’ve waited, and I’ve hoped and then Dr. Hobson...”

“Laura and I are just friends.”

“Are you? Are you really?” James spat out, sounding cynical. “I thought... it made me so unhappy. I wanted to talk to someone and Jonjo never called me back. I tried to find him and he laughed at me. Sergei seemed nice, and I told him, but he...” James screwed up his face and cried like a child. Robbie leapt to his feet and enfolded James in a tight hug.

“It’s not your fault.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m not so chaste and virtuous anymore, am I? And everyone at work is going to laugh at me even more and think I’m some kind of slag.”

“No they’re not,” reassured Robbie, not certain of anything as far as gossip went.

“I am sorry, though, I’m so sorry. If you ever decide... Of course, you won’t decide because you’re straight and...” James began to cry again. “Why can’t I remember anything!” he wailed. “Why can’t I remember anything they did to me?”

“That’s the point of using Rohypnol,” Robbie said, stroking James’ hair. He kissed the top of his head gently.

“I’m sorry sir.”

“Stop apologizing. As for chastity, what happened doesn’t count; you had no say in it. You can’t believe in a God who would count that against you, can you?”

“I went to that night club, didn’t I? I said I’d go drink tea with him.”

“You went looking for Jonjo.”

“How do you know that?”

“You just told me.”

“Did I? I’m sorry sir! I wanted to be – I wanted you to be the first! I want you or nobody. I’d go to hell for you because I love you so much!”

“S’sh, James. Don’t say anything else you might regret,” Robbie said soothingly, all the while listing a mantra of swear words in his head. What had he done to deserve such adoration?

Thankfully, Louise arrived, bearing a clipboard, a blue folder and a porter.

“We’ve a bed in ward 3, behind A and E. Dr. Alice Crocker will meet us there. Sorry about that.”

Everything was suddenly a flurry of activity and movement. As the porter manoeuvred the bed and Louise followed, clutching her clipboard and folder, Robbie fell into step beside her.

“This injection the doctor gave?”

“Yes?”

“How much of what he’s said under its influence will he remember?”

Louise glanced at her notes. “Morphine on top of Flunitrazepam, um, er - Rohypnol - and amyl nitrates? Not a thing.”

Thank God for that, thought Lewis, much relieved.

*

“Hi, I’m Rory,” said the young, redheaded nurse who met them at the door to the ward. “Dr. Crocker sends her apologies, she’s busy with another patient.” He led them to a bay with four beds. The other patients were all asleep. It appeared to be a mixed ward, with an older man, an elderly woman and a teenage girl. The girl was on a saline drip, which made a ticking noise. Rory swiftly whisked the curtains around them and then he and Louise helped James, still just in the borrowed tee shirt, on to the bed. There was blood on the padded sheet, but not fresh, hours old.

“Do you prefer Mr. Hathaway or James? I’m a great one for first names, but whatever you want.”

James just stared looking bewildered and befuddled.

“James, I think,” Robbie said.

“And you are?”

“DI Lewis,” said Louise. “He brought him over from rape suite. Mr. Hathaway is a detective sergeant.”

“It’s Robbie,” Robbie said, smiling at Rory. “I’m here as a friend, not his boss.”

“More than a friend,” Louise hissed at Rory, slamming the clipboard and file into his hand. “Bye James. Inspector.” She left, followed by the porter wheeling the empty trauma unit bed.

“First things first,” said Rory. “I need to do your obs. Stay there.” He returned a few moments later and proceeded to take James’ blood pressure and pulse. He left the clip on James’ finger to monitor his pulse, which was alarmingly fast and erratic, or at least, Robbie thought so, but what did he know? Rory wrote the blood pressure down on the chart. Robbie peered over his shoulder. He wasn’t an expert, but it seemed too low, which surprised him; he’d have thought it would be high, considering all the stress.

“Is it okay?”

“Nothing to worry about. Now James, do you feel up to having a shower? Or a bath? Did they let you have one at rape suite?”

“There’s nothing I want more only my legs are so shaky and...” James surprised Robbie by bursting into tears again.

Rory seemed unsurprised. “I can help you, or give you a bed bath,” he said calmly. “Let’s get those bastards washed off you.”

Robbie, who was holding James again very tightly, stared at the nurse, wondering if he was pushing it or saying the right thing.

The right thing, obviously. James nodded. “Get me clean,” he slurred, still very much under the influence of the morphine. “Why did the other nurse...?” James trailed off, unsure what he was asking.

“She’s had a long day,” Rory replied.

Robbie yawned. “So have I. And that was before I found you on my doorstep,” he added to James.

“Eh? What?” James couldn’t remember how he came to be with his boss, only very, very glad he was.

Rory had left them to take the blood pressure monitor back. He returned with an easy chair and a blanket, pushing Robbie into the chair and covering him with the blanket. Before he could fight it, Robbie Lewis fell deeply and soundlessly asleep.

*

Robbie Lewis awoke to the sound of James’ blood pressure being taken again. He looked at his watch. 11:30 am. How long had he been asleep? He hadn’t noticed the time when they had arrived on the ward.

Rory smiled down on him. “Good morning, Robbie. The doctor’s due on her rounds soon and a right tartar she is too. Maybe you could fetch James some clean clothes. Something loose and comfortable would be a good idea.”

“Sure.”

“And don’t leave him alone. If you don’t live together, take him home with you. Okay?”

“Is he okay?”

“His obs are fine, nearly normal. The bleeding has stopped. More than that?” Rory shrugged and left.

Robbie looked at James, sound asleep with the aid of morphine and valium, pulse monitor still clipped to his finger and now a saline solution drip plugged into a vein on the back of the same hand. He was out of the disgusting tee shirt and in a blue hospital gown. He’d obviously had a bath or shower. His hair was freshly washed, soft, fine blond curls still slightly damp, smelling of something fresh and fruity, not the usual smell of his hair. Dear God, had he honestly noticed what James smelt like? Yes, he had, obviously. The smudged mascara was gone. Robbie stared at the incredibly pale lashes wondering why it had never occurred to him that his sergeant – that his male sergeant! – had such long, dark eyelashes with such pale hair and skin. The bruises and cuts were viciously ugly, red, black and purple, stark and brutal on James’ face. He thought of all Laxton had told him, the bits she’d left unsaid, and thought he couldn’t bear it, what those bastards had done to his James.

His James? He was getting ahead of himself. At least he knew for certain his feelings were reciprocated, even if those returned feelings were buried in a mess of guilt, fear and trauma. And that was before last night.

That was his fault. He’d pushed James away, afraid himself too, afraid of admitting he could fancy another man, be in love with another man. Man? Boy. James was almost half his age and then young and naive for his! He wished Morse were alive, to talk this through. Or, irrationally, Val, who was so wise. But if he still had Val, he wouldn’t look at James.

Would he?

Maybe.

Terrifying thought.

Robbie ran his fingers gently through James’ damp curls and bent to kiss him, meaning to kiss him on the forehead, like his kids, but stopped himself. He remembered kissing another man on the forehead, here, at the John Radcliffe, a final, last goodbye kiss. Instead, he kissed James lightly on the mouth.

Sleeping beauty, thought Robbie, startled as James’ pale lashes fluttered open.

“Sir?" he said, puzzled, sleepily.

“James, I’m going to your flat to fetch you some clothes. I’ll be back soon. Go back to sleep.”

“Okay,” he sighed and rolled over on to his side, asleep again immediately.

Robbie stroked his hair one last time and kissed him again, on the temple. “I love you too,” he whispered into James’ ear. Drowsy and drugged, James didn’t hear. Or if he did, he didn’t comprehend


End file.
